Seven Steps
by Relinquished
Summary: Those seven steps taken gave us the chance to understand the reality of hate, pain, loss . . . and love. Oneshot


**Seven Steps**

Disclaimer: I don't own YGO – didn't I say that about fifty times before?

Summary: Those seven steps taken gave us the chance to understand the reality of hate, pain, loss . . . and love. One-shot

Author's Notes: Another YGO one-shot for me. This came to me while I was getting ready for school. It sounded cool, so I decided to write it.

ENJOY!

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Seven Steps

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We'd never really gotten into a fight before. Our relationship went to such a deep level, there wasn't anything to fight about on the outside. He understood me, and I understood him. Or so I had thought.

What I hadn't counted on was his insecurity, the abused and frightened child behind his cold and strong exterior. His hatred for weakness and for things that made him weak was the driving point to our very first fight. He hated feeling weak – and that was what I made him feel.

He told me that looking at me brought him to his knees and that my presence just overwhelms him. He cannot function properly when he meets my eyes. That is the feeling he hates the most – the weak, helpless state he tells me I render him to. He told me he hates that.

And I? I am, by no means, as eloquent or as talented as he is, but I do not feel that helplessness is a weakness. Fear and helplessness are part of humanity. He is no God and I am no God. To the eyes of others, he may be God-like and superior – but when it comes down to the raw and unpolished truth, he isn't. He is as human as the rest of us and he can't fight fear.

The argument wounded me deeply. It was the first time we fought, ever, and the pain from the experience was unlike anything I had ever experienced in my whole life. It was the first time he had told me he _hated me_.

"Why can't you leave me alone?"

I wanted to know what was wrong. He had never told me to leave him before. Whenever we were together, he would always ask me to stay. But his voice was harsh and cold, like the winds in winter. It chilled me to the bone, hearing it.

"Is anything wrong?"

"Dammit, why can't you just let me be in peace?"

He'd once told me that as long as I was with him, he would be in peace. I couldn't see how that had changed. How did I become so irritating to him?

"JUST LEAVE ME ALONE!" His voice dropped to a low, broken whisper. "I _hate_ you."

This simple statement, those three words, struck me the hardest. He told me he hated me. Our relationship was still in its early stages, but it was deeper than most. We had come to depend so heavily on each other, it was as if we needer each other to exist. But somehow all that seemed to have changed.

Tears came to my eyes, but I fought them down. Instead, I took a deep breath and forced myself to speak. For a few moments, my mouth formed the words, but I could not speak them. The shock had rendered me speechless. Finally, I gathered enough sanity to say only one word.

"_Why_?"

"Because you make me weak."

"Is that why you want me to leave?"

"Yes."

What he fears is fear itself, which is considered a fairly wise thing to fear. But what I fear is nothing as practical as his is. I'm scared, _petrified _even, of people hating me. The look of hate in their eyes – and knowing that that hate is directed at _me_ – scares me so much, there are no words to describe it.

He is easily the most important person in my otherwise desolate and lonely life. To lose him would be devastating to me. I would recover eventually, to an extent, but the pain and the trauma would always haunt me. Already the dark shadow was closing in on my soul and I began to tremble.

"Tell me what you hate about me," I whispered. My voice sounded different to my own ears. "Tell me one thing and I will take a step. If you can tell me enough things you hate about me to get me to the door, then I will leave."

I don't know how I had the mind to think of such a bizarre request, but the words were out there and I couldn't take it back. He looked at me as if I was insane, but that look only lasted a moment. It was quickly replaced by one of hardened resolve. He was really going to take me up on that offer and the resolve in his eyes was enough to tell me that.

"You're pathetic."

I took a step towards the door, my back turned.

"You're weak."

Another step towards the door. I must take the chance now to say that there was not much difference between the door and me at the time. If he produced even five more reasons, I would be on my way out. He took a deep, shuddering breath and there was a malice in his voice I had never heard before.

"You think you're helping me, but you only make things worse."

Step. Just four more . . . I half hoped, half prayed that he would reconsider. I didn't want to lose him.

"You'll never _ever_ be able to fill in the space inside me. You can't replace what I've lost, so don't bother trying."

That was a slap in the face. I couldn't move for the several moments afterward, I was shaking so badly. But his eyes bore into my back and I was forced to move another step towards the door. The intensity made my knees buckle and almost give way.

"I – I hate being weak," he hissed, voice strangely full, "and you make me weak. That's why – why I hate you."

Step.

_Please, stop this . . ._

"When I look at you . . ." he trailed off. There was only room for me to take two more steps before I was out the door. There was still hope. " . . . When I look at you, I –"

"What do you see?" I asked quietly. "Every time you look at me . . . what do you see?"

I had to take a chance, even if I know that this may be considered cheating in this little 'game' I proposed. I had to take whatever chance I had to make this right again. If I didn't, I would regret it forever – and as soon as I was out the door, I knew I was probably never coming back in.

"I see . . . everything I have come to despise."

He was lying, I knew it but he had said it. Heart breaking slowly, I took another step forward. I don't know why I bothered to wait out the last step. It would have been too easy for me just to wrench the door open and leave. But instead, I had to cause myself more pain, just by standing there and listening to everything he hated about me. It hurt, but I clung onto that last shred of hope.

"Is that all?"

When he didn't speak for several moments, I chanced a look over my shoulder. His fists were clenched so tightly that the knuckles turned white. There were a few droplets on top of them, droplets that reminded me of . . . _tears_.

Was he crying? Never once have I ever seen him cry. As I thought about it now, there were a lot of things that never occurred in our relationship. He never cried, I never yelled, we both never told each other 'I love you'. It was something we knew without saying. But it came as a shock to me that him saying 'I hate you' would come before 'I love you' in our relationship.

He stood up then, staggering to his feet as if he had been drunk. He never drinks out of habit and certainly not until he was drunk like a common man. The only times he touched alcohol were on special occasions, like functions and parties. Even then, he only drank a standard glass or two.

"Maybe it's my turn to say something," I whispered to break the silence. "I – I've never hated you. You can say it all you want, but I don't hate you. I _can't_ hate you. If it all ends today – _now­_ – then I just want you to know . . ."

"I love you."

I was cut off, mid-sentence, by the words he had managed to breathe in. It's ironic, really. I'm usually the more vocal one in the relationship, but he was the first to say it aloud. Many people would think that I would be the first one to say those words, but they'd be surprised to know that _he_ was the first.

But the shock came first. Those words startled me so much, I almost forgot what I had to say. He raised his face to look into mine and I could see the tears just flowing. Some people just don't have the colouring for crying in public, but he certainly did. I do too, or so I've been told. But he was crying _for me_, and he had told me he loved me.

At that moment in time, he seemed more beautiful than I ever remembered. You may scorn me and say that boys aren't supposed to be beautiful – they're handsome, yes, not beautiful – but that's what he is. When he is the God, the superior one, he is handsome. But when he is the man, the boy, he is beautiful. His tears only made him more so, because they were _real_.

Superiority and godliness is all pretence and they look impressive on the outside. But beauty is what is on the inside, the real person. The person I was watching now was the real one I've come to love. He was the one who didn't pretend to be strong, or pretend to not care. This was the person who held me wordlessly when I was abandoned by the people who I thought had cared about me. He was the one who offered me comfort beyond imagining and the one who always cared on a subliminal level.

"I love you."

He repeated it again and again, almost trying out the words on his lips. We had never said it to each other before and it seemed a bit foreign. But he said it and he sounded surer each and every time. The tears continued, though, but they weren't tears of frustration or pent-up . . . anything. He gave me a small smile beneath those tears, one like a cloud rising up after a storm.

"Six steps," he told me. I blinked at him. "You've taken six steps."

I knew that already without him telling me. He had given me six reasons – not very convincing, mind you but there were actually six – why I should have left. The challenge was to give me enough to send me out the door. His smile grew just a little and his eyes brightened.

"Your challenge was to get me to give enough reasons to send you out," he continued. "There's one more step to take."

"W-What?"

I didn't know whether or not he was serious. Did he really want to send me out that door and never come back? My uncertainty must have been clear, because he looked faintly amused. I didn't find anything remotely funny.

"How many steps do you think my last reason was worth?" he asked.

"It wasn't a reason to send me out, was it?" I asked tentatively. He shook his head. Maybe I should have been relieved?

"Should be it – let's say, six steps?" he said thoughtfully.

And _he_ walked six steps towards me, until we were so close, our garments were barely brushing. We hadn't been this close since . . . well, for a long time. My breath caught in my throat as he looked down at me. There's pros and cons about our height difference. I can easily rest my head against his chest or his shoulder without straining. The bad thing was, I _did_ have to strain myself to look up into his face.

"You can read me like an open book," he murmured, brushing the back of one hand against my cheek. "No matter how hard I try, I can't hide anything from you, can I? Maybe that's why I love you."

He's said _that_ seven times. Doesn't seem like it, does it? It certainly didn't seem like it to _me_. We've been together for seven months and he's never said it at all – until now. I'm still not used to it. And I can prove that because, as soon as he'd said it, my face was hot enough to fry an egg on. As he leaned down, I instinctively leaned backwards.

And we took our seventh step.

Seven's probably our lucky number. We loved each other for seven months before he asked me out in July. We've been dating for seven months already – and they've been the happiest seven of my life. Now, after seven months, he told me he loved me seven times. One for each month we've been together. The number seven really seems to dominate our lives.

And he's been making all the moves, despite my gentle prodding every now and then. It was now my turn.

"I love you."

I repeated that seven times. There was no need to break tradition now, was there? When I'd finished, he closed the rest of the distance between us and kissed me. Sure, we've had our share of kisses before, but this was different. It had a gentle intensity to it and it took my breath away.

We've been living in a world where everything was what we wanted it to be. It satisfied us for a while, but something so superficial could never last. And it didn't. Those seven steps taken gave us the chance to understand the reality of hate, pain, loss . . . and love. It gave us the chance to come to terms with the deeper meaning of our feelings and our relationship has gotten deeper.

And I really do love him. I didn't just say it because he said it to me. I know he _meant_ it when he said he loved me. The sincerity in his voice made it perfectly clear. And it was because of the sincerity of _my_ feelings, the truth behind it, that I told him the same.

The smiles on both our faces when we parted were of pure bliss. Some couples, however strange they may seem at first, however unlikely, were meant to be. He and I are one of those.

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End

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Author's Notes:

How did you like? I like ambiguity in my fics. This was two pages shorter than my average fics nowadays (I mean, Judgement averaged around eight – this is just six), but it's still good right?

I'm sorry for not having updated for so long. As I was saying to Picaro in an email the other day, I've just started school again and it's HELL. We're being bombarded (once again) with assignments and exams. And I strained a muscle around my hip joint in soccer two weeks ago and I'm _still_ in pain. I can't walk properly . . . sniff

REVIEW!

Relinquished


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